


From the Past Come A-Calling

by Gowombat83



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Ali gets a hooker, Devotion, F/M, King Alistair, Loneliness, Rated M for Themes, always a guardian over your shoulder, finding love in the strangest places, forgotten history, when a spy is not a spy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 00:19:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12947220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gowombat83/pseuds/Gowombat83
Summary: King Alistair has been alone since taking the throne, that's not to say he hasn't had his dalliances but while that may alleviate his physical needs from time to time it did nothing to stave off his desire for true companionship, let alone love.Yael is as unassuming as she is forgettable, that's why she's an ideal spy. Situated in the royal palace in Denerim posing as a maid nothing is as it seems. Her presence there is no coincidence- connected in their distant past, she has unfinished business with the boy who would be King...





	From the Past Come A-Calling

**Author's Note:**

> Writing practice, may evolve into a story but for now just posting what I have as is. Also- shit at titles!

Denerim bustled to overflowing on market day. The cacophonous sounds of merchants and craftsman haggling their wares, of thousands of slippered and booted feet both wandering and purposeful, of smiths hammering on their forges and the lowing of various stock from their holding pens hung over the city in a miasma of dust and colour and noise and smells that was uniquely Denerim. It was a good thing, the town prospering under its reluctant King almost ten years after the fall of the Archdemon, nearly all marks of the blight having been long erased bar the odd scorched and claw-scored stone on the battlements and the towering Fort Drakon. All the more reason for his people to love him, King Alistair may not have wanted the job but he’d done well by them despite.

Trade was never better, his people never felt more valued, and Ferelden was enjoying a well-earned rest from strife and war and monsters under the Theirin crown. It should make him happy, watching the market square from his balcony at the clear evidence of his work, the industriousness and resilience of his people and their willingness to overcome hardship, it made him proud, and always before the vision spread out below him from his lofty vantage of the royal palace calmed him, reassured him he was doing some good. Not today.

As happened on occasion sometimes this view that usually fortified him only made him feel distant and lonely. He wasn’t one of them, always apart, ever watchful but never among them. For the first few years after the end of the blight Alistair had been too busy in his new duties, trying to learn all he would need to help his countrymen rebuild, to worry much about his own personal comforts. He’d been grateful for the distraction, falling into bed in exhaustion late each evening and up again with a new never-lessening list of tasks needing his attention early each morning. It kept his grief at bay. Not that Alistair didn’t mourn her loss, the Hero of Ferelden would forever hold a place in his heart as his first love, and sometimes he would imagine how different things might have been had they accepted the witch Morrigans proposal all those years ago but they had decided together that they just couldn’t do it. No-one should have that kind of power- a trapped Old God soul- in his own bastard no less. It was too unknown, too close to blood magic, and ultimately -under the questionable control of a witch of the wilds- altogether too dangerous.

Both he and Alisara had their reasons for turning the ritual down, but not the least for him was the idea of siring his own bastard child after his experiences under that same title. It hadn’t been an easy choice though, it may well have been the old chance he’d have of fathering a child and were the plan to have the woman and the babe stay with him at the palace, to raise it as his own, the continuation of the Theirin line. He had been tempted.

As it was he would be the last of the great Calenhad blood to hold the throne, unable to sire an heir due to the taint still thick in his blood. If only he could make his advisors understand they might stop hounding him to take a wife, a conversation which inevitably ended in a bellowed “Enough!” as he stormed from the room and setting off one of these bleak moods. He’d hoped over time they’d let it go but instead they seemed to be getting more desperate.

Arl Teagan knew, he’d been Alistair’s closest ally since Alisara and their party had rid Redcliffe of a horde of undead and saved the then-Arl Eamon and his family from the grips of a demon during the blight. When Eamon had passed a few years later the young King had awarded the Bann of Rainsfere’s loyalty by bestowing him the Arling, as such they were in almost constant correspondence and Teagan had soon become his closest friend and confidant. He tried to deflect the concerns of the court as much as he could- for which Alistair was grateful- knowing how it affected his friend every time the question of a Queen or hair was raised but so far they’d yet to come up with a solution between them.

They’d considered a secret adoption, just one day appearing with a babe claiming it to be the Kings Bastard and legitimising the child, but that was really no better than what Morrigan had offered and that child would have been of true Theirin blood. Or a secret sire, but that was a political minefield with both the Queen and the stud chosen to perform the deed having to agree and without any guarantee that all involved would remain silent- these things had a way of getting out- it would make Fereldan vulnerable, it was too risky. Not to mention living under the weight of that anxiety would do nothing for his mental state, forever waiting for that particular bomb to go off.

Simply telling the court he was sterile was just poking a hornets nest, it would set off a panic and scramble to find the next in line and really they just didn’t need that discord. It was unnecessary yet, things were peaceful, they were working, and when he was gone they’d just have to find someone else’s behind to occupy the big shiny chair then.

In the meantime, Alistair was resigned to being alone. While his work kept him from dwelling too much most of the time it was always after he’d been pushed to the point of exploding at his cabinet that he’d need to step away to his study or a balcony and face that fact. Sure, he’d had visitors to his bed from time to time, but it was always fleeting and aside from the immediate physical release it really didn’t satisfy him in the way he hoped. He longed for a partner, someone to share his life with him, someone to love and to love him. Someone of his own choosing, not a random noble Lady pressed upon him for political convenience. Like what he’d had with _her_ before… before she died slaying that dragon and saving them all.

Alistair pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and heaved a deep sigh, yet again completing that circle of thoughts that never led anywhere new.

 At a light footstep behind him he straightened from the balustrade he’d been using to prop himself up and turned.

“Ah, Teagan. What can I do for you?” he greeted tiredly.

“Old friend,” Teagan clapped a hand on his sort-of-nephews broad shoulder, “It never gets easier does it,” he commiserated.

Alistair answered with a wordless grunt, and went back to leaning over the banister.

Yes, Teagan knew. Knew better than anyone what troubled their Lord, and while a lifelong bachelor himself that was by his own choice and he was content.

“You know,” Teagan began, “you don’t have to marry a woman just to enjoy her company…”

“I’m well aware Uncle,” Alistair cut in but stopped when Teagan raised a placating hand.

“Hear me out Al, I’m not talking about just sex, it’s not like you’ve struggled in that department anyway but it hasn’t filled that gap for you so far. It doesn’t even have to be love. What I propose is a confidante, a companion, of sorts.”

Alistair quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head in askance.

“Someone you can have a conversation with or sleep with, someone to comfort you at the end of a stressful day without adding to that stress….” Teagan faded off as he saw the scepticism in his nephews expression.

“Someone would always get hurt in such a scenario, not to mention the security risks, risk of scandal if things go poorly. I can’t expect a Lady of the court to go on as normal if things should go pear-shaped ‘friends with benefits’ I believe they call it,’ Alistair huffed a laugh at that.

“Not if it’s made clear from the beginning. A courtier or noble wouldn’t work; too risky as you say, but something more like a business arrangement, a professional friend shall we say.” Teagan insisted.

“You mean a … whore?” the King faltered on the word, “Is that really advisable…”

Teagan cut in, “A courtesan. Someone clean, discrete and…. exclusive. After all we must consider your health and safety. One known quantity is much more prudent than a string of potentially questionable women. We could easily guise her true purpose as a personal seer, you could suddenly have developed the need to have your palm read at a whim,” his uncle suggested, "or a messenger, a maid even. Someone no-one would notice that would have every reason to come and go from your chambers without raising suspicions. Just think about it and let me know, I’ll send a missive or two to the right people and in no time- instant companion,” the Arl clapped a sturdy hand on the Kings shoulder with a crooked smile and left him to his balcony and his thoughts.

*******************

Yael was perhaps one of the few people living that knew the true extent of the secret tunnels and passageways buried deep within Denerim Castles walls. Hand chosen by the Nightingale herself for this post in the royal holding because of her small stature and rogue skills, and the fact that she was so plain she was practically invisible. It was this that attracted her to the attention of the Nightingale- spying was the perfect vocation for such as she.

It had been her job initially to map as much of the warren of hidden corridors as possible while maintaining a cover as a lowly hearth maid. Doubly overlooked as she appeared much younger than her years due to her petite size, and no-one of merit ever really took note of the help except for the more prestigious roles such as Chamberlain or Head Cook.

Having completed that task within the first 6 months of her appointment she was kept on as part of the Nightingales network of Sparrows; as a go-between for messages, for reconnaissance, or if the need ever arose- an additional bodyguard to the crown.

Once she’d thought that becoming a spy would be full of action and intrigue, and indeed for some it may well be, but she held no special rank among the network and had quickly discovered that actually she spent most of her time being a maid than a spy. Still, she was housed, fed, had an income, and on occasion there was the small excitement of her Sparrow role, not to mention the small personal thrill she got from her occasional proximity to the tall and handsome ruler of Ferelden. There were worse things she supposed, than simple boredom as she worked at her housekeeping duties.

 So when the enraged King stormed into the room she was cleaning, she had swiftly and unnoticed ducked behind the heavy velvet drape that framed some portrait of a long-forgotten Lord or other, and slipped into a narrow windowless recess between the inner and external wall. From this vantage and due to the decay of ancient mortar, cracks opened between the massive stone blocks that formed the outer wall allowed a pinpoint view of the balcony and the whisper of both wind and word to reach her keen ears.  

Still and silent she had heard the exchange between the King and his Arl, and her pulse quickened; finally, an opportunity to get closer to the Ferelden monarch. Yael made a point to ensure every piece of correspondence the Arl sent would pass through her hands first. If she could intercept that summons, there would surely be innumerable benefits to the network to have a Sparrow so close to the crown. It was a gamble, so she decided to keep the operation to herself unless something came of it to report back to the Nightingale. At least, that was the excuse she told herself. When it came to Alistair, Yael was incapable of objectivity; after all, a girl never forgets her first kiss.


End file.
